Heat
by Xen Silver Quill
Summary: "In retrospect, Ghirahim really, really should have expected the rather strong reaction he received from the Twili." [Or, "In Which a Sword Spirit Snogs a Twilit King." Team Villain, GhiraZant.]


Twili, as a rule, were formed in much the same way as humans were. Beyond the patterns and glowing runes upon their bodies, their physiology was nearly identical to their Hylian and Gerudo ancestors. A pair of hands and feet, four limbs, a single beating heart: they shared all of these in common. Most of the noticeable differences were only skin deep, and dwelling on such differences was simply _too_ petty.

There was, however, a physical aspect of the Twili that was entirely unique to their race.

Thousand of years of living in the murky half light of their strange dimension had taken its toll on their eyes. While the successive generations had honed their senses of hearing and smell to be exceptionally keen, their vision had conversely become quite poor. Twili were in no sense blind, but they had long since been afflicted with nearsightedness.

Rather than be deprived of their sight, their bodies began to adapt over time and develop a new sense entirely. Located just below the cheekbones were a twin set of organs positioned on either side of their mouths. Like the pit organs of snakes, these unique - and highly sensitive - glands allowed them to "see" the world around them, not in color and light, but in terms of _heat_.

Over time, this "heat-sense" nearly did away with the usefulness of conventional sight altogether. Heat did not change with the murk of the realm, after all, unlike the light. Indeed, what use were true eyes in a realm of shadows?

For those few Twili who stepped out of their accustomed realm, however, some of the resulting experiences were... interesting, to say the very least.

* * *

Everything about Ghirahim's fighting partner was odd. For one, the wretched Twili dressed abominably for an alleged ex-monarch. Tassles and clogs had _never_ been in style as far as the sword spirit was concerned. Not to mention that eldritch helmet and stinking leather coif he kept on his head night and day.

As if Zant's choice in clothing were not bad enough, the creature possessed the most horrible color sense. Maroon simply did not go with aqua green in any world, twilit or otherwise. All of which was a pity, for even the demon had to admit that the Twili's ashen face did possess a certain avant garde beauty with his silvery skin and fiery molten eyes.

Then there was the issue of his personality, if it could even be called that. Never had Ghirahim met a being so childish and capricious. One moment he would be poking around like a lost pup and doing absolutely nothing useful, and the next he would be thrashing and wailing like a possessed banshee. Zant had all the emotional maturity of a teaspoon!

There was absolutely nothing normal about about him. That perhaps bothered the demon more than anything else, being the sort who thrived on precision and consistency. In spite of all his own cleverness, Ghirahim could never properly guage his sometime companion's intentions or emotions. Zant was the living definition of unpredictability (along with "general nuisance") in his mind. The only thing that the demon could expect was the _un_expected.

So, in retrospect, Ghirahim really, _really_ should have expected the rather strong reaction he received from the Twili.

* * *

"-and if you would just get the blasted job done instead of larking about like you do _every_ time we are out on the battle field, then you would likely not be in this state in the first place."

Zant had the gaul to bare his teeth and growl at him. Bloodied bandages covered his exposed chest and upper arm, his coif and heavy upper robes removed for once. This day's bout of fighting had not been kind to him, and neither was the sword spirit at the moment.

"We successfully regained the fortress, didn't we?" he countered as he took a step towards the demon. Zant winced even with that movement, though his pride would not let him speak much of his pain to the Ghirahim. "The master gave us orders, and we followed them. So long as his goals are achieved in the end, what do the means matter?"

"It matters when you nearly get us killed, you insufferable fool!" Stalking up to the Twili so that they were mere inches apart, Ghirahim's mouth curled downwards in a snarl. "You were merely to guard our flanks and keep that bokoblin horde off our tails. That was your one job."

He jabbed a finger in Zant's face. "But keeping your head and not going into a frenzy for once was just too much for you, wasn't it? No, you just had to lose your cool and nearly bring down the entire masonry on top of us! Our mission nearly failed because of your ineptitude and stupidity, and I had to save your sorry hide yet again-"

"I never asked you to save me," came the cold rebuttal. Eyes burning dangerously, he hissed in low warning at the demon.

Quite suddenly, Ghirahim very much wanted to slap the Twili or throw him out the highest window of the fortress guard tower. Or both. Definitely both.

Yet he knew quite well that he could do neither, and so was left trembling with barely contained fury. Steel-grey eyes narrowed to slits, his fingers curled into fists, the manicured nails fighting into his hard palms. If he did not channel the blinding anger somewhere, Ghirahim feared that he might spontaneously combust. In that moment, he surrendered to impulse in order to save himself...

...and kissed him.

Roughly grabbing Zant by his already bruised shoulders, the demon slanted his mouth over the Twili's own. His fangs rasped over those warm, thin lips. Ghirahim's tongue followed after, sweeping over the same places his teeth had bitten. In the heat of the moment, the sword spirit thought nothing of the tip of his tongue sweeping over one sunken corner of the usurper king's mouth-

A high-pitched keening in his ear nearly made him jump out of his false skin. It took him a heartbeat or two to realize that it had come from the very Twili he had hitherto been snogging. Ghirahim's mind finally caught up with him, and a mortified blush turned his cheeks a dark grey. Oh, by master's glorious eyebrows, what had he done?

He quickly backed up, making to run out of the room and get as far away from the keese insane Twili-

Or at least he would have if the same Twili's arms did not instantly snake around to trap him. Ghirahim had not a moment to so much as gasp indignantly before he was all but slammed against the nearest wall. The Twili's breaths were ragged, his hot breath washing over the demon's face. Orange eyes of the deepest amber stared intently at him.

Then Zant bent his head and pressed his lips to the demon's skin. He began nuzzling his nose in earnest against his pale neck. Once or twice he flicked his tongue out to slide along the delicate veins of the sword spirit's throat, relishing the fluttering pulse beneath his ministrations.

When the initial shock had worn off, Ghirahim found the gentle kisses to be surprisingly... nice, enjoyable even. Almost before he knew it the demon was arching his head backwards, exposing more of his skin to the Twili's exploration. His finger twined themselves in Zant's short tawny hair. Sigh after pleasured sigh fell from his lips, and a new kind of warmth left his face burning fiercely.

The Twili's hands came up to caress either side of Ghirahim's face, and he touched his temple to the demon's own. He trembled no less than before, though his gaze had now taken on a decidedly pleading cast. It was a pretty look on the once-king, almost endearing.

"Pl-please," Zant stuttered. "Ag-gain, please..."

A rakish smirk curled on Ghirahim's face, but he did not play coy. Instead, he pulled the Twili closer to him until their lips were only inches apart. "Like this, you mean?" His tongue flicked out to that most sensitive of spots on the corner of the other man's mouth.

Zant's renewed moaning was the only answer he needed.

* * *

A/N: Inspired by the lovely people on tumblr's GhiraZant tag. Hope you guys here on FF enjoy it!


End file.
